dear darling
by tatty ted
Summary: A quiet shift becomes anything but quiet when a five year old stab victim is brought into City Hospital along with her psychotic mother. Now it's up to the team to attempt to piece together the events of that evening before one of them is seriously hurt again. - —set late '94, early '95.
1. CHAPTER I

ϟ

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**dear darling**  
_a smile, a laugh, every day._

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She's always crying, crying, crying.

She never shuts up, cries twenty-four hours, seven days a week. Asks too many questions ("where's daddy? why's daddy not coming home!") reaching the end of her tether, wants to shake the girl to death whilst screaming; "daddy's dead you stupid girl! dead, he's never coming back!"

She scratches her nails against her palms, locked the child inside her room.

She's banging on the wall, screaming at the top of her voice, crying, crying, crying. Never. Shuts. Up. Never. Quiet. Pain. In. The. Arse.

He was killed by a drink-driver, killed instantly, left them to deal with the pain, to cope alone. She can't cope though, she can't cope with a screaming brat for a child. Can't cope without her one-true-love. She tries. God, she tries but she's just a screaming fucking brat.

Brat. Brat. Brat.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

She snaps. She picks up the knife from the kitchen and goes upstairs. The blade glitters in the light and she smiles softly as she opens the door. The child screams more and backs into the corner, begging her mother not to hurt her, "please mummy, please."

She grabs the girls hair and smashes her head into the wall whilst screaming; "you're a fucking brat. You killed your father, you worthless piece of shit!"

She takes the knife and drives it into the girls stomach. The girl cries out, in agony, seeing the devil inside her mother's eyes. She bites her lip trying to stop the cries but it hurts. There's blood seeping through her fingers, dropping onto the floor.

She's aware she's making a mess but there's nothing she can do.

Her mother stares at her and mutters that she's going to hell, with the devil where she belongs. She doesn't want to die, she's too young. She lies on the bed, stares at the ceiling and closes her eyes.

She opens them again, telling herself that she isn't aloud to sleep, it isn't bedtime yet.

She closes her eyes because she can't help it, she's growing weaker by the minute. She sees her daddy standing there, telling her that it's going to be okay but she's got to go back because it isn't her time to go yet. He says she doesn't belong here, not yet its too soon for her.

/

The neighbour hears the screaming of the child and calls the police.

The sirens of the police car racing to the house alerts the usually quiet street to the commotion. People stand outside in their dressing gowns and slippers, staring as the police knock on the door of number 55.

They gossip, hell its Wednesday evening and Coronation Street is on, nothing happens on this street. The police break down the door and enter the house, the house of horrors. There's blood in the hallway, bloodied footprints creating a trail they follow.

One searches upstairs, one down. Both nervous, feeling sick wondering what they're going to find. The one searching downstairs finds mum in the corner of the living room, hands and feet covered in blood.

"Are you okay?" He edges towards her, "Miss,"

She's rocking backwards and forwards, muttering over and over again; "fucking brat deserved it, fucking brat deserved it."

Upstairs the second officer walks into the bedroom to a pool of blood and a body of a girl no older than five lying on the bed. His heart stops beating for a minute as he slowly walks towards her. Pressing his fingers to her neck, he's relieved when a pulse (a faint one) beats back to him.

"Pete! Pete, we need an ambulance," he hears his colleague radio through and he picks up the girl and holds her tightly, "it's okay little girl, it's all going to be okay."

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**jottings** / if you like it enough to favourite/alert, please leave a review:3


	2. CHAPTER II

ϟ

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**CHAPTER TWO**  
_where you gonna sleep tonight?_

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As he's holding her he's wondering why somebody would hurt her. She's beautiful, innocent looking, fallen like an angel. She reminds him of his own children, the three he has at home with his wife, two girls and a boy.

He can't imagine life without them, can't imagine hurting them or attempting to kill them. He wonders if she was desperate, the girls mother, driven to the end with all her problems that she couldn't see a way out of it other than to hurt themselves.

He's aware of the girls blood getting onto him but he's not bothered, he just wants her to feel loved (if it happens to be her last moments)

He remembers his basic first aid, how its important to communicate to an unconscious casualty but now he's seen one so young, he's lost for words. What does he say to a child other than it's going to be okay, she's going to be fine.

He breathes a sigh of relief when he hears the ambulance sirens in the distance, racing towards the house. He checks her pulse, she's still breathing and he smiles sadly at the child, wondering if she'll ever get over this trauma — how her mother tried to kill her.

/

"Unknown name aged around five. Single stab wound to the stomach, given a litre of hartmann's. Tachychardic at 150, blood pressure is fifty over forty and respiratory rate is sixty. Have we all got a bit, on three, one, two, three."

/

Mother's in cubicles, both her wrists slashed although superficial. The police are outside, staying in case she does a runner. She's sat on the bed not saying much, staring into space, knees tucked under her chin.

Rocking again. Backwards, forwards. Forwards again then back.

Rocking, rocking, rocking.

/

"Push another litre of hartmann's through."

"Cross match six units of blood please."

The wound on her stomach's stopped bleeding. She's responding well to treatment, become more responsive. Her respiratory rate has picked up, her pulse has slowed and her blood pressure's normal. The wound on her stomach, on inspection, doesn't look too serious, could do with a couple of stitches however.

/

She stops rocking but continues to stare into space.

Kate gently wipes away the blood from her wrists, wondering what possess a mother to do what this woman did to her daughter. She knows she can't pass judgement and perhaps that's the hardest thing. They weren't there to pass judgement, just to patch them up.

She's far too thin with skinny wrists and sunken cheeks.

An A&E regular no doubt judging by the scars and fresh cuts that littered her arms.

"What's your name?" Still nothing, just silence. The girl looks down at her wrists and wonders why she didn't cut deep enough, was it because she knew she couldn't die? What she had done was sinful and she'd only go to hell with the devil for company and not to heaven with her boyfriend and her daughter, the only two she'd ever really loved in life.

/

She slowly opens her eyes, staring at the white tiles of Resus. She's confused. If everything's white does that mean she's gone to heaven with daddy? She turns her head to the side catching sight of the heart machine, the other person in the bed next to her and screams.

"Hey," Rachel looks at the girl and smiles softly, "you're okay, you're safe."

She looks at the nurse and swallows hard. She wasn't in heaven and she was in hospital which was worse, "where's mummy?"

"Would you like me to find her for you?"

"Please," the child smiles softly before she realises that her mother is the reason she's in here. It comes back to her like a wave crashing against the cliffs, the shouting, mummy with a knife, mummy stabbing her. She puts a hand on her stomach; "she called me a shit."

"Who did?"

The five year old child looks up, her eyes wide in terror and her bottom lip begins to wobble; "mummy called me a shit. She said I was a fucking shit and that's not a very nice word is it?"

Rachel sighs. This girl. This poor girl and the stuff she had to go through at the hands of her own mother, "no it isn't a nice word." She sits on the edge of the bed and hugs the child tightly as the girl begins to cry, frightened and alone.

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**jottings** / if you like it enough to favourite/alert, please leave a review:3


	3. CHAPTER III

ϟ

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**CHAPTER THREE**  
_why do these tears come at night?_

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"What's your name?"

"Ava-Rain Anderson, I'm five. My birthday is 14th April eighty-nine. What's your name?"

"My name's Rachel."

"That's a lovely name."

/

Pete and Kevin, the two police officers stand near the coffee machine. It's been temperamental but if they're honest, their appetite for coffee is long gone. Neither of them know what to say to each other, Pete more than Kevin, Kevin found the girl after all and he was left with the crazy mother.

"I'm sure she'll be okay Kev."

He smiles sadly and nods. There's a part of him that keeps screaming that statement to him, that she'd be okay. Then there's the other part that can't help but focus on how shallow her breathing was, how much blood and how cold she'd become in a short space of time.

"You didn't see her mate, she was cold, proper cold."

There's a silence between them before they look at one another and decide to return to the waiting area. As they sit down, they find themselves questioning life and why it was always the innocent ones who were hurt.

/

"Has she said anything?"

"Nothing, she won't even tell me her name. I don't think it's the first time she's been treated here though, there's evidence of self-harm on both of her arms."

"Can I interrupt?" Charlie, Mike and Kate turned their attention to Rachel who'd just joined the conversation; "I have a name on the girl. Ava-Rain Anderson, born fourteenth of April eighty-nine."

"She's awake?"

"She's awake and—" there was a pause as she collected her thoughts, "I'm going to contact social services, see if she's in the system. She said something about been called names, I think there's evidence of abuse, mentally if not physically."

"Okay well keep me updated okay?" Mike looks at the cubicle where the girl's mother is been treated and says, "hopefully we'll find something out about mum."

/

Kate goes back to the cubicle where she's been treated.

She's been rocking backwards, forwards, forwards and backwards since Kate left twenty minutes ago, eyes staring into the distance, not registering anything around her. Kate knows she's got to tread carefully if she wants to get her to open up, she could flip at any time.

"Your daughter Ava-Rain, that's a beautiful name."

"He chose it, my boyfriend and Ava's father."

"Do you want me to contact him, let him know you're both here."

"If you can ring heaven yeah," she stopped rocking and began to laugh, "that fucking brat that I call daughter killed him. She killed him and — and — she's the devil, the devil I tell you. Fucking possessed she is, needs killing."

Kate looked at the mother and wondered if it was perhaps her who was possessed by the devil; "what happened?"

"That piece of shit I'll tell you what she did, shall I? Screamed, screamed, screamed, wouldn't shut up screaming! He couldn't hack it, he walked out and then next thing, I'm getting a phone call by the police. A drink driver hit him but it's her fault, that bitches fault!"

Kate began to feel sick about the woman's choice of language about her daughter, how could anyone in the right minds speak of their daughter like that?

/

"Excuse me?" Pete walked to the desk where Matt was sat. As he looked up and made eye contact with the policeman, he nodded; "yes?"

"Any news on the little girl? The stabbing, brought in about an hour ago."

"I'll find out for you."

"Okay," he returned to his seat next to Kevin and once again, none of them spoke. A few minutes later, Rachel walked towards them and they both looked at each other and then stood up. Taking a deep breath, they braced themselves for the news expecting it to be bad.

"How is she?"

Rachel smiled softly, "she's awake and she's fine at the minute. She's asking for one of you, the one who held her though you can both see her if you like?"

Kevin looked at Pete and Pete shoved him forward before telling him he'd wait for him out there. As Kevin followed Rachel, he couldn't help but feel his heart tightening and butterflies appearing at the pit of his stomach.

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**jottings** / if you like it enough to favourite/alert, please leave a review:3


	4. CHAPTER IV

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**CHAPTER FOUR**  
_it doesn't matter anyway_

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"Reanne Anderson, twenty-three years old. Quite the hospital record," Charlie said as he handed the file to Mike, "four hospitalizations in two years, treated for post-natal depression and self-harm, the most recent been two weeks ago at St James'."

/

"Hello you," Kevin stood at the end of the bed, his eyes focused on Ava. He couldn't believe how much she'd changed in a short period of time. When she'd come in here, she was pale, cold, dead like. Now she was sat up, talking like it hadn't have happened.

"Hello. You're the one who stayed with me right?"

He nodded and she sat up and crossed her legs. Tapping the space beside her, he slowly walked towards the bed and sat down. There was nothing spoken for a second before he reached over and tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. Resting her head on his shoulder, she whispered to Kevin thank you for not leaving her to die.

/

Backwards, forwards.

Forwards, backwards.

Again, again, again.

/

"Mister Policeman?"

"Call me Kevin."

"Mister Kevin," Ava pauses collecting her thoughts; "is my mummy going to prison?"

Kevin looks at the youngster and wonders what to say. He can't tell her mummy's crazy who's most likely going to be sectioned rather than go to prison. Instead he swallows, takes a deep breath and kneels down to her height.

"Maybe because mummy did a bad thing and she hurt you. And if you hurt someone, you sometimes have to go to prison."

"Okay, will it be for a long time?"

"I don't know, maybe."

/

She runs her hands through her hair and stops. She begins to pull out her hair, rocking backwards and forwards, laughing and screaming hysterically.

She looks under the pillow and spots the knife. She pulls it out, the blade catching in the light. It sparkles. She smirks as she licks the side of the knife with her tongue, knowing that nobody would stand in her way of killing Ava once and for all.

The devil, she had to reach the devil.

/

Ava had been transferred out of Resus and into one of the cubicles. It was the child one, the one with the patterns and the pictures on the wall.

She lies back on the bed, counting the tiles (keeping count on her fingers) trying to pass the time and relieve some of the boredom she faced as she waited. She saw Rachel come back into the cubicle and Ava wondering if she should ask, about her mummy.

"Rachel, how is mummy?"

Rachel sat beside Ava, "your mummy is fine. My friend Kate's looking after her."

"Can I see her? Please Rachel, pretty please."

/

Too much blood, too much blood on the bed.

Ava just stares at the blood that's dropping onto the floor from her mother's wrists. It's splashing on the floor and Ava's aware its making a mess but she can't do anything. She's frozen on the spot.

"Mummy?"

"Sssh," Reanne presses a bloodied finger to her lips, "come here sweetheart."

"You're scaring me mummy," tears began to pool in her eyes, "you're scaring me please stop."

Reanne sees red for a moment and throws the bloodied knife in Ava's direction. Fortunately it doesn't go anywhere near her and lands in the corner although the clink of the metal caught the attention of the others.

Rachel walked into the cubicle first, her eyes falling upon Reanne, the blood and the open wounds on her wrists. She put her hands on Ava trying to steer her away from the scene but she told Rachel she was okay, she was fine.

Mike and Charlie grabbed hold of each of her arms trying to stop Reanne from hurting herself even more. Reanne was screaming, kicking everything, screaming to Mike and Charlie to get the fuck off her, she didn't want them touching her.

Rachel was about to take Ava out of the cubicle when what happened next, shocked all of them.

/

"Mummy listen to me, stop."

Like a switch had been pulled Reanne stopped fighting against Mike and Charlie; "the Doctor's say you won't go to prison because you're poorly. You're going to have to take some medicine to make you better."

Reanne looked at her daughter, five years old and wise beyond her years (she made her that way through the abuse); "Ava, listen—I'm sorry baby, really sorry."

"It's okay mummy, you're poorly. You don't mean it. I love you a lot,"

"Like jelly tots," Reanne repeated and burst into tears. Ava walked towards her mother, wrapped her arms around her neck and kissed her forehead; "I love you a lot like jelly tots. Goodbye mummy, don't forget me will you?"

"Never, ever."

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**jottings** / if you like it enough to favourite/alert, please leave a review:3


	5. CHAPTER V

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**CHAPTER FIVE**  
_you've got a piece of me_

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She's scribbling furiously at the colouring table waiting for social services to arrive.

It's her third picture, one for mummy, the second for Mister Kevin and the third for Nurse Rachel. The paper's slightly creased from where she's leant on it and folded the paper but its still a "masterpiece" in her eyes, each picture is the same, a simple thank you for helping.

(except mummy's picture which contains Ava and mummy on a beach holding hands)

/

"This ladies called Clare and she's going to look after you while your mummy gets better," Rachel explained kneeling down to the girls level. Ava accepted her explanation and wrapped her arms around Rachel's neck; "thank you for looking after me Nurse Rachel!"

She smiles softly as she breaks out of the hug and takes Clare's hand; "oh silly me!"

Slapping a hand against her forehead, Ava took two pieces of paper out of her pocket and handed them to Rachel; "one is for you to say thank you, the other is for mummy. Will you make sure she gets it?"

"Of course," it's only when she's gone that Rachel opens the paper. She smiles at the picture, a flower coloured in blue, yellow and pink with the wobbly handwriting saying thank you for looking after me. She blinks away the tears and puts the picture in her pocket remembering her promise to make sure Reanne got Ava's picture too.

/

Ava's walking through A&E, her hand clasped firmly into Clare's. They pass the coffee machine and its only then that she catches Mister Kevin and his friend talking. She runs up to him, shouting his name before she pressed the picture into him, "yours."

He kneeled down and took the picture that Ava had drawn for him. Looking down, he spotted a picture of him, Pete and the police car with the wobbly words of thank you underneath. He smiled softly, "thank you, it's lovely."

"You keep catching those bad guys Mister Kevin."

"Look after yourself and I'll see you soon." He turns to Pete as the youngster walks out of the department, "what a sweet kid," he whispers, takes his coffee from Pete and takes a sip. Pulling his face at the taste, (like dishwater Pete said) he put down his cup and said;

"come on, lets go and get some proper coffee!"

/

"Well that was—"

"An odd shift?" In the staff room stood Rachel, Charlie and Kate discussing how strange today's shift was. It was a strange shift, a mother who had all the symptoms of multiple personality disorder and a five year old child who acted like fifteen.

"Pub anyone?"

Rachel had just boiled the kettle and poured herself a cup of tea. Staring at the cup, she wondered what was better. A bottle of wine or a cup of tea? She nodded as she poured the hot water down the sink; "count me in."

As she was putting on her coat, she made eye contact with Kate and said gently; "it makes you wonder doesn't it?"

"What?"

Closing her locker she replied; "why some people completely break apart when they have children. Anyway—that's enough about work, I'm buying the first round."

In the darkness three people walked away from the hospital, heading in the direction of town and towards the nearest pub. The events of today not too far from their mind and all three hoping tomorrow was an easier day, for them and everyone around them.

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**jottings** / if you like it enough to favourite, please leave a review:3  
the end. written in about six hours, based more on a case than a certain character.


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